


Chants and Manifestos

by Rhiannon87



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Angst, Crack, Fluff, Humor, Multi, random doctor who crossover, very short chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-06
Updated: 2012-04-06
Packaged: 2017-11-03 03:14:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 5,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/376492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhiannon87/pseuds/Rhiannon87
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabble-length fics for the promptfest on the DA LJ community.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ostagar

**Prompt:** Ostagar

**Date:** May 3, 2011

Of course, she was still better than him.

He didn’t know why he’d thought things would be any different in the army. She’d signed up first, he’d joined at the last minute, tagging along at her heels _again_. But he’d hoped that maybe he could find a place here. Make a name for himself. Something besides Little Hawke or Little Brother.

Maybe if they hadn’t been stuck in the same unit someone would have noticed him. But no, they were both in the Third with Captain Varel, and the good captain was in awe of his sister. Everyone was. Lieutenant in the militia, now a lieutenant in the King’s army, leading raiding parties out against the darkspawn while he sat in camp and bashed practice dummies to pieces.

He growled under his breath and threw another twig onto the fire. He’d never get out from her shadow. 

“Hey, little brother!”

Speak of a demon and one shall appear. He glanced up as she dropped down beside him in a clatter of armor. “Hey.”

She elbowed him in the side, grinning. “Guess who gets to join in the raiding party tomorrow?”

He did a double-take. “Varel said it was okay?”

“Took a lot of persuasion—apparently he has this thing about sending siblings out together, doesn’t like risking that much death in one family—but he agreed.” She gestured at the sword beside him. “Better sharpen her up. Darkspawn ain’t exactly squishy.” She got to her feet and clapped him on the shoulder. “And I heard that the troops from Highever should be here in a week or so. Then the _real_ fun starts.”

He grinned back at her. “Can’t wait.”

She trotted off towards the kennel master. He pulled a whetstone out of his pocket and set to work on his sword. She’d want to go back to Lothering when this was done, but maybe… maybe he’d stay. _Captain Carver Hawke._ He grinned. Had a nice ring to it.


	2. Kill them all

**Prompt:** Kill them all

 **Date:** May 3, 2011

… _while I appreciate the gravity of the situation, I cannot find cause or justification to allow the Annulment of the Circle. The mages are entrusted to your care, Knight-Commander, and you must find a way to maintain the balance…_

Meredith crumpled the letter and hurled it at the wall. She knew the Grand Cleric would not understand. She didn’t have to live in the cursed Gallows every day. She wasn’t surrounded by the mages, so resentful and angry and powerful. So easily tempted.

She folded her hands on her desk and stared at the door. Orsino was just across the hall, no doubt conspiring with his fellows about escape attempts and blood magic. There were so many blood mages in Kirkwall. So many who opened their minds and souls to demons. They had to be controlled. And if they could not be controlled, they had to be purged.

Meredith placed a clean sheet of parchment in the center of her desk, and began to write.

_Your Most Holy and Beloved, Divine Justinia, your humble servant requests your blessing upon your Templars in Kirkwall…_


	3. How Malcolm died

**Prompt:** How Malcolm died

 **Date:** May 10, 2011

He’s been sick for weeks. They all gave up hope of recovery days ago, and since then, it’s been agony—watching him slowly waste away, hoping for a miracle, wishing it would just end already, feeling sick with guilt.

Leandra’s sitting on the edge of the bed, holding his hand, as always. The curtains are open and sunlight spills into the room, across his face. His eldest is perched across from Leandra, shoulders hunched, trying to hold back sobs. Bethany’s given up that pretext; she’s openly crying into her twin brother’s shoulder, and Carver’s holding her in a rare display of warmth.

“Don’t be sad,” Malcolm says weakly. “This is… If I have to go, it’s good that I go like this.” He squeezes his wife’s hand; Leandra swallows hard and squeezes back. “I’m at home, with my family… sun on my face.” Dying in the Tower would have meant darkness and stone. He’d had twenty-eight years of freedom and life and joy. 

Malcolm smiles at his family and closes his eyes.


	4. Found

**Prompt:** Found

 **Date:** May 17, 2011

“Oooh. Look what I found!”

Over the years, Varric had learned to fear many phrases coming from Hawke’s mouth. “It’ll be easy,” “what could possibly go wrong,” and his personal favorite, “watch this!” all struck a certain amount of terror into the dwarf. Sure, the ensuing catastrophes made for great stories, but they were catastrophes nonetheless.

But none frightened him as deeply as that sentence. _Look what I found._ In all the time they’d known each other, Hawke had found giant spiders, fire-breathing demons, dragons, darkspawn, and intriguingly constructed blade traps. Among other things. Because it wasn’t enough for Hawke to find the terrible, terrible things; they had to be shared with all, starting with the self-appointed storyteller.

“Varric,” Hawke whined, pointing at the small hole in the cavern wall. “Come see!”

He sighed and walked over. “I’m gonna regret this.” 


	5. Do I end up happy?

**Prompt:** Do I end up happy?

 **Date:** May 17, 2011

 

Hawke is dying.

Anders is dead, and Hawke is dying. Varric knows he could probably save her, if he tried, if he left her side long enough to get the potions, but he might not get back in time and then she'd die alone, and he can't do that to her. Not after everything else she's been through.

Besides, he's pretty sure she wouldn't thank him to save her life, now.

“You're gonna be my greatest story,” he tells her, holding her hand.

She smiles, bloody teeth and swollen lips. “You're gonna make half of it up,” she accuses.

“Well, of course,” he says. “Wouldn't be one of my stories otherwise.”

She rolls her head to the side and looks at her lover's body. “In your story,” she asks, and a few tears escape her eyes, “do I end up happy?”

Varric swallows hard. “Of course,” he promises. “You and Anders run away together. He stays by your side, for always. And together, you bring the Chantry down.”

She looks away from the corpse and smiles again, weakly. “That'd make him happy.”

“And then,” he continues, taking both her hands in his, “you go back to Ferelden and settle down somewhere with your sister and that Warden boyfriend of hers. You two have a house, and a bunch of cats and a dog, and couple of kids. His eyes, your hair. One of them's a mage. Or maybe both. We'll see.”

“You think I wanna retire?” she asks, blinking heavily.

Varric smiles at her. “I think you want peace,” he says, squeezing her fingers gently. “And the hero retiring to the countryside is the happiest ending I know.”

She smiles back. “It does... sound nice,” she agrees. “It's a good ending. Tell it... tell it that way.”

“I will. I promise.”

“ _Tell me one thing. Is the Champion dead?”_

“ _Oh, I doubt that...”_


	6. Pets

**Prompt:** Pets

 **Date:** May 24, 2011

 

“Cats catch mice. An’ mice… mice eat your food. Spread disease.” Anders took another long drink and gestured at Hawke. “Better’n dogs.”

“No, ‘cause dogs can, like, jump on a darkspawn an’ rip its throat out,” Hawke countered. “Cat couldn’t do that.”

Isabela leaned over to Varric. “I thought Sparkle-Fingers over there couldn’t get drunk?”

“Hawke dragged him in around two. They’ve been drinking ever since. Apparently, Blondie was wrong.”

The pirate frowned. “Didn’t the Chantry just ring eleven o’clock?”

“Yep.” Varric took a long drink and shook his head. “The cats versus dogs argument started about seven.”

“Ser Pounce-a-Lot was a noble friend!” Anders shouted suddenly, pointing at Hawke. “I don’ hafta sit here and listen to you talk about him like that.” He tried to stand, failed, and sat back down with a sigh. “I miss him,” he said mournfully, then dropped his head to the table.

Hawke scooted closer and started stroking the apostate’s hair. “We could get you another cat?”

“It wouldn’t be the same!”

Merrill rested her chin on her hand. “I had a dragonling for a pet, once,” she said. “Much better than a cat or a dog. It could breathe fire.” She sighed. “Kind of a shame about my tent, though.”

Varric groaned and signaled for another drink.


	7. Your only friend

**Prompt:** I’m your only friend / I’m not your only friend / But really I’m not actually your friend.

 **Date:** May 24, 2011

 

_I._

Hawke cannot be trusted. It does not matter that he’s a mage, that his father and sister were apostates. He is an unknown, a stranger, an outsider. 

_He helped us. He wanted to save Karl. And he understands what we did, why we did it… I was just trying to help…_

And I was trying to help, too. You know that. And it’s not too late, it’s not over. Together, we can do what alone we could not. We don’t need anyone else. You don’t need anyone else. It’s you and me against the world.

 

_II._

This is a distraction.

_It’s called having friends._

A distraction. Unnecessary. You’re wasting your time, our time, with these people. Thieves and a blood mage and Hawke. You spend too much time with him.

_He’s a friend. You understood what that meant, once._

You want him to be more than a friend, though, don’t you.

_That’s none of your damn business._

It concerns you, so it concerns me. We cannot afford such distractions. There are more important things than this.

 

_III._

 

_What have we done!?_

What was necessary. This is the freedom that all mages have—

_Stop it! Stop it, please, just stop… oh, Maker, what have I done… what have I let you do…_

You agreed with me. This is why you took me in, so that we could fight for your people! We would bring about justice!

_I wanted to help my friend._

You did, Anders.

_No. Justice is long dead. You’ve never been my friend. I killed him, and Maker willing, Hawke will kill us both. That would be justice._

For both of us.


	8. Worst sidequest ever

**Prompt:** Worst. Sidequest. EVER.

 **Date:** May 31, 2011

Hawke looks around at the giant spider corpses littering the cave and shakes his head. “This is the worst sidequest ever,” he grumbles.

“Worst what?” Anders asks, prodding at a corpse with the end of his staff.

“Sidequest. You know, a job that pays pretty well but isn’t going to have any major impact in the long-term…” Hawke trails off at the blank look on the apostate’s face. “Never mind. Check the spider behind you, I think it’s sparkling.”

“Uh… right.”


	9. Put on your sexy boots

**Prompt:** Put on your sexy boots

 **Date:** June 7, 2011

 

It is, in Isabela’s estimation, entirely too early to be conscious, much less… oh, Maker’s blood, Hawke is _bouncing_. 

“No.”

“Come on!” Hawke pleads, hopping from foot to foot in the doorway of Isabela’s room in the Hanged Man. “It’ll be an adventure.”

“I had enough of an adventure last night, thank you.” A thought occurs to her, and she raises her head hopefully. “Is Anders out there with you?” Sparkle-fingers could get rid of the headache, at least.

“No.” Hawke pauses. “Not yet. We could go get him! He needs more adventure!”

Isbaela’s of the opinion that Anders needs many things (including a damn good lay, preferably by Hawke, because if the looks get any more smoldering someone is going to spontaneously combust), but adventure is not one of them. Being half-abomination seems like more than enough adventure already. But if they go to Anders’s clinic, she could probably whine and pout her way into a healing spell.

She sighs and forces herself to sit up. “Oh, fine. You win.”

Hawke claps gleefully. “Put on your sexy boots, then, and let’s go!”


	10. Cobwebs

**Prompt:** Cobwebs

 **Date:** June 7, 2011

 

Cassandra leaves him sitting in what used to be Hawke’s dining room. He waits until the door slams, then slumps in the chair, rubbing a hand over his face. He hasn’t been back here in so long… It’s almost an insult to have the Seekers using it as a base.

That was probably deliberate. Never let it be said that the Chantry is without spite.

Varric shakes his head and climbs out of the chair, intending to leave through the cellar, disappear into Darktown for a while (even if the sight of Blondie’s clinic will hurt like a knife to the chest, same as Rivaini’s empty stool at the bar or Gloomy’s mansion or _this place_ ), but somehow he finds himself wandering the rooms of Hawke’s mansion. 

The place is dusty, and full of cobwebs, but looking past that, it’s like Hawke never left. Books are stacked on the end table in the study. The top one still holds a worn green ribbon that Blondie always used as a bookmark. There’s an empty cup on the low table before the fire, and Varric can picture the scene, the roaring fire, Blondie sitting at one end of the couch, reading, Hawke sprawled out with his feet in his lover’s lap, rambling on about whatever misadventure he found that day…

He leaves the room and heads for the kitchen, missing his friends so badly it hurts, and telling himself that his eyes are stinging from the dust, nothing more.


	11. Second chances

**Prompt:** Second chances

**Date:** June 7, 2011

 

_Anders dresses in black now, and he’s mean and spiteful and cruel without cause. Merrill doesn’t realize how bad it is until she finds out that he left Hawke, told her it was over. She doesn’t understand why he did it. She doesn’t understand why he’s being so cruel now. “Why?” she sobs, tears streaming down her face, and Hawke puts an arm around her shoulders. “Why are you saying these things to me?”_

_He can’t look at her, at either of them, as he replies. “Because you’ve got a second chance. Most blood mages don’t get that.”_

Little bits of the Chantry are still falling around them. Merrill tries not to think of what’s in the ashes that are falling on her shoulders and hair. Hawke stands behind Anders, staring at him, the mix of shock and grief and pain and betrayal driving away the ability to even cry. “Thoughts?” Hawke asks dully, glancing at the others clustered around the courtyard.

Some of them say he should die. Some say they don’t care, they’re tired of the whole situation. But Merrill looks at the broken man sitting on the box and remembers someone who used to heal her cuts and scrapes, who played with the kittens in the market, who was trying so very hard to make things better, even if he did it all wrong.

“He should come with us,” she says. “Give him a chance to put things right.” 

Hawke stares at her, and Merrill knows they’re both remembering that day on the mountain, the day her clan died. And because it’s Hawke, because she always gives everyone more second chances than they deserve, because she’s in love with him, she drops the blade to the ground and tells him to join her.

“Why?” he asks Merrill as they leave the courtyard.

She shrugs. “Because we both need it.”

Anders closes his eyes and looks like he wants to cry. “Thank you.”


	12. Eligible

**Prompt:** Eligible

 **Date:** June 14, 2011

 

The first time it happened, it had been so vague and subtle that he hadn’t really realized what the conversation was about until halfway through, at which point he drained the rest of his glass and fled. The second and third times, he caught on much earlier, and politely steered the conversation in another direction. But by the fourth time, he’d had enough wine and lost enough patience to just turn around and walk away, leaving the man and his daughter sputtering in shock.

Hawke walked out to the balcony and leaned against the rail, staring angrily at the garden below. He wanted to leave, but leaving meant cutting back through the party… unless he jumped down into the garden and made a break for it. He probably wouldn’t hurt himself that badly. The clothes would be a lost cause, but it seemed a small price to pay.

“Are you all right, Serah Hawke?”

He glanced at his host and frowned. “Just needed a break from fending off unwanted marriage proposals,” he replied with a patently false smile.

“Unwanted?” the baron scoffed, eyebrows raised. “Serah, you’re the most eligible bachelor in Kirkwall. I invited you so you could meet some of my friends’ daughters--”

Hawke glared daggers at the man. “Bachelor implies that I’m single,” he snapped icily. “I’m with someone.” 


	13. Regeneration

**Prompt:** Regeneration

 **Date:** June 14, 2011

 

He manages to hold it together, to hold it in, until the others have left the courtyard. It takes what little remains of his strength to reach back and pull the knife from his back. Anders drops it to the ground with a gasp and lets go.

Glowing blue light pours out of him, burning cold, a miniature counterpoint to the explosion from the Chantry. It’s painful this time, worse than before, and he wonders if that’s because his body is fighting to push Justice out as well. But at least the spirit will be free. The mistakes of this life will haunt him—necessary evils, so many of them over so many years—but he can make one thing right.

When it’s over (or mostly over, anyway), he sits up with a groan. Everything’s still sort of tingly as he holds his hands out in front of him. He pulls a strand of hair down in front of his eyes and makes a face. Brown this time. “Boring,” he grumbles. “Oh, new voice. Hm. That’s interesting.” 

He stands and brushes himself off. He’ll need to find new clothes… something less feathery. Part of him wants to run to the Gallows, to fight with his friends, but they’ll probably be a bit wary of strangers right now. So he’ll make a break for Isabela’s ship, pose as one of her sailors for a while. It’ll be difficult, pretending not to know all of them… especially Hawke… he closes his eyes and sighs. “I’m so sorry, my love,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “It had to be this way.”

He rakes a hand through his hair and leaves the courtyard. Maybe he’ll explain things to them this time, once everything’s calmed down a bit. Of course, if they’d paid attention, they’d have all known this for a long time. Someone should have worked out that his timeline didn’t make sense.

Someone should have realized that he couldn't have been in Kirkwall and Amaranthine at the same time... but they never put it together.

He smirks and shakes his head. "I guess that's what I get for telling them to trust their healer all the time," he mutters.


	14. Also? I can kill you with my brain

**Prompt:** Also? I can kill you with my brain

 **Date:** June 14, 2011

 

She’s put up with his judgment and glares and watching for years now. Years without falling to temptation or corruption. She’s butterflies and sunshine and smiles, never letting anyone know how much it hurts to be so mistrusted. For some reason, though, today the snide comments get under her skin.

She falls in step beside him and smiles sweetly. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” she tells him, keeping her voice soft and gentle-sounding, so that the others won’t hear. “And you’re no better than I am. So perhaps you should keep your mouth shut in the future.”

There’s a brief pause while he stares at her. Her smile turns from sweet to something far, far darker. “Also? I can kill you with my brain.”

Merrill can feel his eyes burning into her back as she skips away, humming under her breath. 


	15. Five stages of grief

**Prompt:** Five Stages of Grief

 **Date:** June 21, 2011

 

_Denial_

“No! No, Papa can’t be dead, he can’t! You’re lying. You’re lying! He’s okay, he has to be okay…”

 

_Anger_

Blades flash, slashing through thick flesh, drawing out the vile, tainted blood, stabbing over and over and over again, as though somehow it will bring Carver back.

 

_Bargaining_

“Please, I have money, I have—please, don’t take her, we can--”

“You would attempt to bribe a Templar? How _dare_ you! You should be grateful I don’t have you thrown in prison for this!”

 

_Depression_

Curled up in bed, sobbing, uncaring of who hears or sees. Mother’s gone. Dead, murdered, brutalized… Nothing in this Maker-forsaken city matters now because she’s _gone_.

 

_Acceptance_

“This is what you want?”

A nod, eyes fluttering closed. “Please, Hawke. End it for me. I… please.”

A hand on his shoulder and a knife to his back. “Then find some peace, friend. Find your rest.”


	16. Debunking myths

**Prompt:** Debunking myths

 **Date:** June 21, 2011

 

“I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Hush! This is a _brilliant_ idea!”

Anders and Varric exchanged nervous glances. Hawke peered down into the qunari compound, while Isabela and Merrill finished securing the ropes to the pillar.

“No, Hawke, seriously, this is a really, very not-good idea.”

Hawke waved Anders off and handed Merrill a large pouch. “Are the trees in place?”

Merrill nodded and settled herself into the harness. “Yep!”

Varric groaned and covered his face with his hands. “Why did I let her buy itching powder. Why!?”

Hawke grinned over her shoulder at them as she and Isabela started lowering Merrill down towards the Arishok’s throne. “Relax, you two. It’s for science!”


	17. I can't believe I died for this war

**Prompt:** I can’t believe I died for this war.

 **Date:** June 28, 2011

 

He’s been stabbed before—sort of comes with the territory of being a Warden and wayward adventurer. But he’d always healed himself. He could heal himself now, he thinks, but that’s not the point. This is justice. He killed innocents, and he must pay for his crime. This… this is right.

He hits the ground hard, and it hurts, jolting through him. Regret washes over him, but it’s not his regret—it’s Justice, pulling away, finally separating. So he was right—Justice will be free.

It’s a small comfort as he bleeds out in the dirt, cold in both mind and body. He presses his hands to his stomach and rolls onto his back, trying to summon up enough energy to heal himself. Justice is gone, and he doesn’t want to die.

The sky’s still red from the explosion, and he feels sick at the memory of what he’s done. Darkness pushes in on his vision, and he closes his eyes, a few tears tracking down his face.

_I can’t believe I died for this war._


	18. Also, I wouldn't call us friends...

**Prompt:** Also, I wouldn’t call us friends…

 **Date:** June 28, 2011

 

Elthina looked up as Sebastian trudged into the Chantry, flanked by an elf with an impressive number of tattoos, and an anxious-looking blonde man. She smiled warmly at her protégé. “Oh, Sebastian, I’m so glad you brought friends with you!” she said.

Sebastian coughed and glanced over his shoulder at the men. “I don’t know if I’d call them friends, exactly.”

“More like acquaintances,” the elf said.

“Or people who work with other people they hate,” the man muttered, glaring at everything.

Elthina frowned slightly. Sebastian sighed. “Is Serah Hawke here yet?”


	19. Can I buy a vowel?

**Prompt:** Can I buy a vowel?

 **Date:** July 12, 2011

 

The situation really shouldn’t be nearly as funny as it is. Kidnapping is a Very Serious Matter. There’s a whole section in that enormous doorstop of a law book that Aveline keeps on her desk on the subject. But now that the panic and interrogations and fighting is done, and they’ve found their wayward Champion… well, it’s a little funny, Hawke sitting on the floor, bound and gagged, clearly attempting to commit murder through sheer willpower.

“Good thing you’re not a mage,” Varric comments. 

Hawke glares. “Unmy mm mu mastard.”

Varric chuckles. “Can I buy a vowel?”

“Mmmm muu!”

“Now, now, Hawke. Language.”

“Mm mate muu.”

“No, you don’t.” 


	20. It's magic!

**Prompt:** It’s magic!

 **Date:** July 12, 2011

 

There’s not enough snow for a proper snowball fight, but that hasn’t stopped the twins from trying. Their older sibling has spent the wintry afternoon studiously attempting to recreate the Hawke family in snow and ice, while Bethany and Carver scoop up handfuls of snow and mud and fling them at each other, laughing.

Bethany bolts away from her brother and finds herself in a patch of yard that’s clear of snow. Carver, on the other hand, has industriously shimmied up a nearby tree and is scooping handfuls off the roof. The young girl frowns and cups her hands together, concentrating, then hurls a whirling ball of snow and ice at the back of her brother’s head.

Carver sputters, flailing as he tries to get the snow out of the back of his collar. He glares down at her, standing in a perfect snow-free circle. “How’d you do that!?”

She grins. “It’s magic.”


	21. Remembering is all that I can do

**Prompt:** Remembering is all that I can do

**Date:** July 12, 2011

 

He’s tried to write the story—the real one, not the one in the legends, not the ones that he told so many nights at the Hanged Man. Hawke put up with those stories, mostly. But he feels like he needs to write it down, the truth of what happened, so that someone will know. Someone besides him.

Merrill said that Keepers remember the history of their people, of their clan, and he supposes he feels a bit like that, now. He couldn’t stop any of it from happening. He couldn’t bring his friends—his family—back together, couldn’t keep them from flying apart across the continent. All he can do is remember those six and a half years in Kirkwall, the years that Hawke and Isabela and Anders and Fenris and Merrill and all the rest were in his life. He remembers them, because it’s all he’s got left.

Varric sets down the quill and buries his face in his hands. Maybe tomorrow he’ll start the tale. Tonight, he needs a drink.


	22. baby!Anders

**Prompt:** baby!Anders

 **Date:** July 12, 2011

 

She sits on the porch with her sister-in-law and watches as their children run around the yard. Her son is trying to keep up with the older boys, his cousins, wanting to be just like them as they play Wardens and Darkspawn or Knights and Bandits or whatever game they’ve come up with this week.

Her son. He’s so much younger than the others, even though she’s older than their mothers. They lost so many children before he was born. His brothers and sisters were buried in a row of simple graves behind the house, all of them dead before she gave birth. But then he came along, her precious baby boy with bright blonde hair and his father’s big brown eyes and the sweetest smile she’d ever seen.

He runs over to her, laughing and covered in leaves, clutching something in his hands. “Mama, look,” he says, depositing a striped chunk of rock into her lap. “It’s pretty!”

She reaches out and ruffles his hair, plucking a few stray leaves out as she does so. “It’s very pretty,” she agrees. “Is it for me?” He nods. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

“I’ll find more for you, Mama!” he declares, and runs off. She leans back in her chair and watches him, eyes tracking every movement, ready to jump up and run to his side at the first sign of trouble. He’s her only child. She won’t let anything happen to him.


	23. I'm okay! ...Less okay!

**Prompt:** I’m okay! …Less okay!  
 **Date:** July 19, 2011

 

For an extinct creature, Anders mused thoughtfully, there seemed to be an awful lot of dragons around. He ducked as the massive creature spun around, tail slicing through the air about where his head had been a few seconds earlier. Once the tail had cleared the area, he straightened back up and surveyed the scene.

Nathaniel had climbed up the rocks and was quickly, calmly firing arrow after arrow into the dragon’s hide. Oghren was busy doing his ‘look at me I’m a target’ routine and hacking at its ankles, while Cousland was… somewhere in the shadows, presumably stabbing vulnerable bits.

Anders was halfway through casting a powerful ice spell when the dragon slapped Oghren with one enormous, taloned paw, sending the dwarf soaring across the clearing in an almost elegant arc. He landed gracelessly and rolled a bit before coming to a stop. Before Anders could react, Oghren popped back up to his feet. “I’m okay!”

The dragon’s back paw came down on his head. “…less okay,” Anders heard dimly as the dwarf passed out. He heaved a sigh and started casting a revival spell.

“They’re supposed to be _extinct_ ,” he grumbled under his breath. “Should’ve called it the kitten age and we wouldn’t have these sorts of problems.”


	24. Growing old

**Prompt:** Growing old

 **Date:** August 2, 2011

 

She has been growing old for years, ever since the day they found that Bethany had magic. Being the wife and mother of apostates took its toll. Her gold-blonde hair, once the envy of half the girls at court, had started to grey by the time she was thirty.

She doesn’t regret it, though. She’s known happiness and love in her life, even if it’s also been a life marked by tragedy and loss. Now she’s back in Kirkwall, to spend her twilight years in her childhood home, watching as her eldest grows into someone strong and confident and respected. As her child falls, fumbling and nervous and flustered, in love.

It’s noticing that last one that makes her think about remarrying. She doesn’t need to be at home all the time, hovering over their shoulders. She may have grown old, but she’s still alive. She’s met a few men at the Viscount’s parties—widowers, mostly, some of whom remember her from decades ago. So when she finds the lilies waiting for her at home, she smiles and wonders who her secret admirer is. Perhaps she’ll write a few inquiring letters when she gets back from Gamlen’s, she decides. She might be old, but she remembers how to be courted.

Leandra smiles and steps out into the street. Flowers from a suitor. Almost enough to make her feel young again.


	25. How did you get up there?

**Prompt:** How did you get up there?  
 **Date:** August 2, 2011

 

Hawke tilts her head to the side contemplatively. “How did you get up there?”

Anders shrugs and adjusts his one-armed grip on the branch to steady himself. “Funny, that’s what I asked when I walked by the tree.”

Somehow, her expression manages to grow even more bewildered. Anders sighs and moves his other arm from where it’s wrapped around his stomach. The top half of a small, fuzzy cat emerges from his coat before he puts his arm back, effectively pinning the feline in place. “She really wants to climb the tree,” he explains. “If I don’t hold onto her she’s going to get away.”

Hawke tries to maintain a straight face and fails. “You’re adorable,” she tells him. “And ridiculous. And predictable.”

“Also the thoughts I had about the tree’s first occupant.” He grins and scratches the cat behind the ears. “Um. I don’t suppose you could help us down?” 

She laughs and walks away, shaking her head. “Hawke?” Anders calls. The door to her estate shuts behind her. He looks down at the cat. “She’ll come back,” he says confidently. “I can just sit here and…” A low rumble echoes through the garden. “Was that thunder?”


	26. Breakfast of champions

**Prompt:** Breakfast of champions

 **Date:** August 2, 2011

 

“Varric!”

Over the years, Varric has learned to recognize the myriad ways in which Hawke can shout his name. Amusement, worry, annoyance, and on one occasion that Hawke didn’t remember and Varric never spoke of, unbridled lust. (Thank the Maker for Isabela and her ability to haul drunks out of his room. That could have ended awkwardly.)

This, however, was a particular brand of exasperation that only ever followed the Champion’s discovery of one of his publications. Varric folded his hands together and waited.

Hawke slammed the door open and marched over to him, slamming a parchment down in front of him. “What’s this?”

Varric smiled. “A poster, Hawke,” he explained. “An advertisement for that new bakery in east Lowtown. You liked it, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did, and now I can _never go back_.” Hawke stabbed a finger at the poster, which bore a lovingly drawn sketch of the Champion eating a bagel and smiling broadly. Above the image were the words _Breakfast of Champions!_

“That’s a shame,” Varric said, taking the poster from under Hawke’s hand. “I hear Champions eat for free.”

Hawke lapsed into a contemplative silence. “They do have excellent bagels.”

“Yes they do.”


	27. I gave you all

**Prompt:** I gave you all

 **Date:** August 9, 2011

 

Malcolm Hawke is seething.

“Is that it, then?” he snaps, wrapping a bandage around his hand. “Are we _done_?”

Larius nods. “It’s done.” Corypheus will remain entombed for decades. Another generation of Grey Wardens will be responsible for this task, for finding a trustworthy mage and enlisting their aid.

Hopefully those future Wardens will have an easier time of it than he did.

Malcolm looks at the bloody sword in his good hand, lips twisting in disgust, and hurls the blade away from him, as though he can get rid of what he’s done by throwing the evidence away. “The arrangements have been made?”

He nods again. “Passage for you and Mistress Amell to Highever. The ship leaves tomorrow morning.”

“Good.” Malcolm flexes the fingers on his injured hand, staring at the bloodstains soaking through the bandage, then storms over to Larius. He grabs the man by his breastplate and yanks him forward, his face inches from the Commander’s, eyes hard and furious. Larius can feel the magic crackling in the air around them. “I gave you everything today,” he sneers. “I broke my most sacred vows for you. So I don’t ever want to hear from your people again. Do you understand me? You leave me and my—my _family_ alone.”

Larius swallows hard. Malcolm’s furious enough to kill him at this point. “You won’t see us again,” he promises.

“See to it that I don’t,” he snaps, and shoves Larius away. The Commander just stands there, head bowed, as Malcolm grabs his staff and vanishes. They don’t need his loyalty or his friendship. They only needed his blood. That was enough. 


End file.
